The loft was huge, far bigger than what she’d initially anticipated, but it had to be, she reasoned, since four dudes were staying there.

Winter couldn’t imagine what that must be like.

She knew firsthand how Ollie lived, with pizza boxes and beer bottle strewn everywhere, and if Syn ever stayed any place longer than a week, his would probably be the same.

That times four?

Chaos.

The entire cab ride over—she’d insisted, though Răzvan had offered to drive her himself—she’d thought about it, but more importantly, she thought of all the information she had to go over with him.

She’d spent the better part of the night creating her own file with every bit of information she could find on Sylvain Reynolds until she was positive she’d found everything they would possibly need.

By the time she was walking up the back lot toward a secret doorway and keypad set into the wall, she felt confident about the hunt.

With her skills as a hacker and Răzvan’s work as a … whatever the hell he liked to call himself, it would be a piece of cake.

Punching in the four-digit code he’d texted her hours ago, she opened the first door then stepped into the freight elevator and rode it up, briefly wondering if his brothers would be here.

He hadn’t mentioned it, and she hadn’t seen any of the bikes downstairs, but they could still be hanging around.

She didn’t mind either way, but she was curious what they would be like when they weren’t in the middle of a job—the files never showed that.

Once the elevator stopped, she was barely inside the loft when a message from Răzvan pinged on her phone.

Third floor, last door.

Even as she followed his direction, walking up the metal staircase on the other side of the room, her gaze drifted over the open space.

From the mismatched furniture to the surprisingly clean kitchen to the television still on with what looked like Call of Duty on pause.

It was definitely clear that men lived here.

Light spilled in from the wall of windows, bathing the concrete and metal in bright light until everything practically glowed.

She’d always loved this about lofts—how open they were and the rustic nature of them.

“You should probably think about installing another elevator,” she called out once she reached the third floor, drawing in a much-needed breath once her thighs stopped screaming.

It wouldn’t hurt if she scaled back on the tacos …

The sound of fists hitting something solid carried to her ears from the open doorway of the room Răzvan had indicated, and she only had to clear it before she knew where the sound had come from.

Răzvan stood just to the side of a punching bag, his taped fists striking out in quick succession, jostling the bag from side to side.

It was impressive enough to watch him do that, but it was made all the better considering he was wearing nothing more than a pair of shorts that cut off at his knees, hanging just low enough that she could see the black waistband of the boxer briefs he wore.

With each punch, the sinewy muscles that made up his arms and back flexed with the movement. Not an ounce of fat covered him anywhere.

A sheen of sweat covered him, but that did nothing to take away from his appeal—it added to it.

Răzvan was just raw, unadulterated sex appeal.

And the part of her brain that had always put Syn at the top of her list of hottest men had quickly found a replacement.

Clearing her throat to get his attention, she stepped farther into the gym, her gaze skirting around, so she had something, anything, to look at other than him.

“I didn’t realize you were a southpaw, Răz,” she commented as she drew closer to him. “You’ve got a pretty decent swing too.”

She tapped his arm for emphasis, not bothering to hide the fact that she was checking him out a little.

There was just so much to look at, and once he turned to face her, the front was definitely as good as the back, if not better.

His chest was solid—defined pecs and abs that stood out in stark relief when he exhaled.

Scars littered his torso—the only thing that marred its perfection, but perfection had always been overrated anyway.

When she could finally tear her eyes away from his chest and actually look up at him, he gave her that half smile that made her smile in return.

—I didn’t know you knew what a southpaw was.—

“I watch a lot of TV. So is boxing how you stay in shape or was this for my benefit? Because, by all means, keep doing what you’re doing. I’m enjoying the show.”

Răzvan embarrassed easily and seeing that rosy hue in his cheeks darkening a bit as he swiped a hand across his sweaty face only made her smile wider.

As close as he was standing now, she could practically feel the heat wafting from his big body, and even as sweat rolled off him, she wasn’t put off in the slightest.

She felt delicate standing next to him, and she loved every second of it.

Dragged from her thoughts as he jerked his head for her to follow him, they left the gym, but not before he grabbed his discarded T-shirt and two bottles of water from a mini fridge in the corner.

He led her to another room on the floor, this one requiring a key to open. Without walking in, he flipped the light switch and gestured again for her to go before him.

A single, white-top table sat in the middle of the floor with a standing lamp beside it. Twin bookshelves filled with various texts from books about coding and programming to others on late philosophers she’d only ever read about in school.

As her gaze skimmed over them, it didn’t take her long before she realized they were all in alphabetical order.

Everything about the space was organized, not a single piece of anything out of its proper place. It was almost scary how neat everything was.

She liked keeping things clean-ish, but this was a bit much even for her.

“Is this your office?” she asked, her gaze seizing on the table in front of her.

Scattered across the top of it were hundreds of puzzle pieces, more than she had ever seen in her entire life.

It was obvious he’d been hard at work on it considering the perimeter was finished and now it was just a matter of filling in the middle, but still. There were a lot of pieces.

“I didn’t take you for a puzzle man,” she added absently. Though if there was anyone with the patience for it, it’d probably be him.

She loved them.

Syn never had the patience for them. Then again, it was hard for him to stay in one place long enough to complete one.

He pulled out a chair for her before claiming one of his own, gesturing for her to start.

“You asked me why I’m in New York, so here’s your answer.”

She laid it all out for him to see, starting with the very same pictures Piston had shown them as well as an article about his murder.

—What am I looking at?—

“His name is Sylvain Richards. Long story short, he thought he was smarter than his clients and stole lots of money. Fast forward, he was killed … painfully, but the money he stole was never recovered.”

Răzvan’s brows shot up, his interest clearly piqued. —Go on.—

“His clients weren’t good people by any stretch of the imagination, so if you’re worried about that, you shouldn’t. Anyway, let me backtrack a bit. There were rumors about a ghost account, one that was untraceable.”

—Was?—

“Untraceable because we never knew who the account belonged to or where to even find it.”

—What do you need exactly?—

“Sylvain never told anyone about where he put the money—only that he confessed to having it.”

—And you want to steal the money … again.—

“Precisely.”

He rubbed a hand over his jaw. —You might not know this, but it’s either all of us or none of us. We don’t work individually.—

“It’s not a job,” she said quickly, eyeing his expression. “Think of it more like a contest to prove who’s the best.”

—We already know the answer to that, no?—

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Răz, but sadly, while I know I could hack it, this particular server can’t be breached remotely.” She touched his hand. “That’s where you come in. I need someone to get me in the building, and I can handle the rest. Who could be better at that than you?”

He smirked, and it was a good look for him. —Flattery, huh? Tell me, why haven’t you asked Calavera to help you?—

“Because she’s honeymooning with her husband, and that would be selfish of me to ask her to give that up.”

—And the other mercenaries?—

“They’re not as nice to look at as you.”

—This is the first time I’ve been offered a job because of the way I look.—

She shrugged. “I played fantasy baseball once and picked all my players based on looks. I think I came third in my league.” His baffled expression only made her laugh. “It’ll be cake, Răz. Just a little B&E and it’ll be over before you know it.”

—If I agree to do this, you’ll do what I say.—

“Are you this bossy in all aspects of your life?”

He didn’t even blink as he ignored her question. —I need to see what you have.—

Winter pulled out the thumb drive she carried with her everywhere, dropping it into his hand when he reached for it.

Already, she could feel this was going exactly the way she hoped, and she hadn’t even needed to bribe him to get him to agree.

Once he had it plugged in, he plucked a wireless keyboard off a shelf and hit a few keys, darkening the lights in the room while a projector flickered to life.

“No one told me you were a techie,” she said in wonder, coming up to stand beside him. “Where’ve you been all my life?”

Most people had a basic understanding of the way technology worked, able to make it through mundane tasks, but with the way Răzvan’s fingers shifted over the keys, and she saw the system he was working on, it went beyond that.

He actually knew what he was doing.

It wasn’t long before he had the file open and was scanning through the contents. She didn’t interrupt him, letting him make of it what he wanted because, for all her playfulness, this wasn’t something to play around with.

She already knew what they were up against, the players involved, and what was at stake, but he needed to see it for himself without her commentary.

Răzvan was thorough, going over every bit of information she had gathered until he set the keyboard on the table.

—I need the blueprints and security schematics.—

Now it was her turn to pick up the keyboard. “The schematics were already in the file.”

—No, I need the protocols for any breach in security.—

Most businesses, especially private firms and security practices, had protocols should anyone try to hack or just plain steal any information.

“We won’t need those, right?” she asked, glancing in his direction. “Considering it’s a one-shot deal.”

—We’ll need everything.—

She couldn’t exactly argue with that. “Coming up.”

The blueprints were the easiest to find—these happened to be public record—but the protocols took a bit of time to find by hunting through the Lofton servers.

—The hackers you’re working with, you trust them?—

“I do.”

After years spent getting to know each other in private chat rooms, then finally in person, she trusted them implicitly.

They were her friends.

“Since you’re part of the team, you’ll need to meet them.”

—No.—

“No? What do you mean no?”

—It means I don’t have time.—

“It’s not like they haven’t already seen you at The Hall.”

His expression didn’t change.

Big stubborn man.

“Ollie has a plan in mind that he wants to go over tonight, so I’m pretty sure you’ll want to hear it.”

Răzvan actually looked pained. —Yeah, I wouldn’t want to die on account of that idiot.—

“Harsh, Răz. He means well.”

—Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. Let’s go.—

She followed him out of the room. “Are we taking your bike? Not that I mind, but I’ve always been curious whether any of you actually own cars.”

Contrary to what she thought on the way in, there was another floor beneath the level she’d come in on. She wasn’t sure until he flipped a switch on the wall and lights came on one by one that they were standing in a garage.

Not only were there an assortment of motorcycles—far more of those than anything else—but there were at least ten cars lined up side by side, ranging from muscle cars to high end sports cars.

“These … these work. Should I guess which one is yours?”

* * *

Răzvan didn’t make a point to hang around hackers.

To be fair, he didn’t like to be around anyone for too long, but unlike the others he dealt with who tried to go for the kill rather quickly, hackers were nefarious and didn’t just go for the jugular.

They took their time and liked to destroy the person they were targeting in a far more damaging way.

They had the ability to take away everything you held dear without ever showing their faces.

And now, he was about to be in a room full of them.

“You’ve got that look on your face.”

Dragged from his thoughts, Răzvan blinked and glanced at Winter.

She reached up and brushed her fingers along his forehead, easing the lines away. “Resting bitch face isn’t a good look for you.”

His glare had zero effect on her as she kept walking into the apartment just outside the city. He usually didn’t make it a point to go anywhere he didn’t at least know the layout of, but Winter seemed to know the place well enough, and he had his Glock on him.

“Fair warning, Ollie and the others aren’t mercenaries or hardcore thieves or anything you’re probably used to. While the mercs won’t blink an eye at your brooding silence, they will, and I don’t need you scaring my friends.”

He didn’t have to sign the question that was on the tip of his tongue because his expression said it all.

Are you fucking serious?

Inside the apartment, he was greeted by the sight of the three he’d seen Winter with at The Hall.

“You remember Ollie, right?”

Of course, he did.

He’d been there that first night in The Hall, and judging from his expression, he was just as afraid of him now as he had been that night.

If he were a better man, he would have had Winter tell him he didn’t have shit to be afraid of, but it was clear as his expression shifted that it was Răzvan’s size that intimidated him.

Ollie was several inches shorter than he was, yet he still tried to look down his nose at him.

Which meant he thought he was smarter—and therefore better—than Răzvan, which made him a fucking idiot, and if Winter hadn’t grabbed his hand at that moment, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, he might have given him a real reason to be afraid.

As far as first impressions went, he didn’t like the look of this one.

“And Tessa,” Winter went on, “Ollie’s sister.”

She was as tiny as Winter with hair that seemed almost too dark. Friendlier than her brother, she offered an almost shy wave of her hand. “I’ve heard very little about you.”

Good.

That was the way he preferred it.

Before Winter had a chance to introduce the other girl, she quite happily strode forward and introduced herself.

“Nicole.”

Instantly, he knew her type. He knew enough narcissists to recognize one.

She was pretty and knew it, though there was nothing wrong with that—he could appreciate a woman knowing what she was worth—but he didn’t like the way her gaze flickered over Winter dismissively like she wasn’t even there.

“Are we ready to get started?” Winter asked.

“It’s simple,” Ollie jumped in. “We hack the security feeds and the elevator and take it up to the offices on the forty-fifth floor. From there, we download what we need, leave a worm behind to cover our tracks, and leave back out.”

Răzvan blinked, drew in a breath, and then blinked again, wondering if he’d heard right.

But it was obvious he did because Ollie stood there with his chest puffed out like he’d actually come up with a brilliant plan and not one full of holes and impossibilities.

Had he ever been this young and stupid?

Even during his training with the Lotus Society, he’d never once approached a job as if it would be anything less than a challenge. Whether it was eliminating a war criminal or entering a store and walking back out without ever getting caught on camera, he’d not once thought it would be easy.

He’d foolishly thought because Winter had a way of seeming older than she was, the team she brought onto this job would be the same.

But the more Ollie talked, the more Răzvan could only stare and wonder how he’d made it this long on his own.

His gaze cut to Winter. —Is this why you needed me?—

—More or less. We’re hackers. We can’t do what you do.—

“What’s he saying?”

—Your plan sucks.—

“He wants to revise the plan,” she translated, far nicer than he would have been. Then to him, —You could be nicer.—

—Nicer will get you killed.—

Besides, he was being nice. If it were anyone else, he would have walked the hell out of there and not looked back.

—What would you suggest then?—

—Dumping them entirely. Him, especially.—

—This was their idea, Răz. I can’t cut them out.—

—Then whatever role they play needs to be as far removed as fucking possible.—

“Here’s the plan,” Winter translated. “Tăcut and I will go in the building for the data. Someone needs to monitor the security feed, another needs to make sure we’re going in the right direction, and Nicole, you can scan the parking lot or something to make sure nobody else comes along.”

There was definitely history between them, and judging from the satisfied smirk on Winter’s face and the disgruntled frown on Nicole’s, it went far back.

Ollie, who’d seemed annoyed before, didn’t seem as bothered now. “When do we start?”

Winter looked back at him, waiting for an answer.

—We need to wait for them to move the server.—

“Wait, what? What do you mean move the server?”

He felt all eyes on him, but it was only to her he gave his response. —Remember the protocols? If this is a contest and more than just you are going after this ghost account, there will probably be a rash of break-ins. If the other people are half as eager to jump on this as your boy seems to be, they’ll make mistakes resulting in the server being moved.—

“Moved where?”

—How am I doing your job, Îngeraș?—

He liked the shade of pink her cheeks turned when he used that name for her.

Her voice softer than usual, she said, “I didn’t account for that.”

“You know we don’t understand anything you’re saying,” Tessa commented with an amused smile.

“Tăcut wants to wait until the server is moved before we go after it.”

“Wait?” Ollie exclaimed. “Do you know how much money is at stake? If we wait any longer, we aren’t going to win!”

—If you don’t wait, you’re going to go to jail, dumbass.—

Winter, wisely, didn’t translate that. “If Tăcut thinks we should wait, then we’re going to.”

“Who the hell is he anyway?”

“Ever heard of The Wild Bunch?”

“You mean those bank—”

Ah, there it was.

Recognition.

It wasn’t often people had heard of him and his brothers, but if they had, their expressions were usually identical to the one Ollie was wearing now.

“And don’t forget he wears a mask for a reason. If anyone ever finds out who he is, he’ll more than likely break your neck. Just something to keep in mind.”

Poor Ollie looked shook. “Noted. We’ll just … We’ll go with whatever he says.”

“Right then. We’ll fine tune it, and I’ll let you guys know when and where.”

As they were leaving, she asked, “Do you like anybody outside your brothers?”

—I like you.—

More than she knew.